Woman

I was never good at portraits.

Bone structure
killed the feeling.

The jaw.
The eyes.
The terrible need
to make someone
recognizable.

I did not want
to measure his face.

I wanted to survive
what it had done to me.

So I did not draw him.

I drew the woman.

Lowered.

Covered in the grey
I could no longer keep
inside my body.

She makes me shiver

because she is not asking
for anything.

Not an answer.

Not a hand.

Not a man
to turn around
and say her name.

She simply stands there
with the weight
made visible.

And I understand her.

Because there are things
that live inside us
until art gives them
somewhere else to go.

I needed an image
before language
kept me hostage.

Before one thought
became another thought
became a room
I could not exit.

So I gave it no face.

No mouth.

No tired eyes
to forgive.

I gave it a woman.

And somehow
that frightened me more.

Because she was quiet.

Because she was beautiful.

Because she looked
like the part of me
that had stopped waiting.